Page 31 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

Kiril reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. “I’m proud of you. You’ve come so far in such a short time.”

I squeeze his hand in return. As I look at him, I see not just pride, but something deeper that makes my heart race. “I couldn’t do this without you,” I say softly.

Kiril stands, pulling me to my feet and into his arms. “There are other things which require both of us to fully satisfy,” he mutters before capturing my lips in a passionate kiss. I’m more than happy to switch from business to pleasure.

13

Kiril

Felicity moves through the grappling maneuver, her form improving with each attempt. Over the past three weeks, she’s shown remarkable progress in her combat training. Her determination and quick learning have impressed me more than I’ll admit to her.

“Good. Now, try to…” My words are cut off as Felicity loses her footing. She twists awkwardly, landing hard on her side with a sharp cry of pain.

I’m beside her in an instant. “Are you alright?”

She grimaces, trying to sit up. “I think so. Just landed wrong.”

I help her to her feet, but she winces as she puts weight on her left leg. “We’re going to our private clinic.”

“It’s not that bad,” she protests.

“No arguments,” I say, refusing to accept her rebuttal. “We need to make sure you haven’t done any serious damage.”

Felicity pants raggedly with exertion but doesn’t resist as I lead her out of the training room. We take the elevator down to the garage, where I help her into the passenger seat of my Miata. I don’t bother to wait for Viktor to bring the limousine. As closely as he watches us, he’s likely already in the SUV to follow along behind us.

The drive to the private clinic is tense but fast as I zip and weave through traffic to save time. I keep glancing at Felicity, noting the way she holds herself stiffly, clearly in pain despite her attempts to hide it.

“Dr. Petrov will take good care of you,” I assure her as we pull into the clinic’s parking lot. “He’s the private physician for our organization,” I say with a phantom smile.

She nods, clearly understanding he’s on the bratva payroll. She doesn’t protest as I lead her into the discreet but luxurious clinic. Inside, we’re immediately ushered into an examination room by the doctor himself.

Dr. Petrov, a tall man with graying hair and kind eyes, looks at her with concern.

“Mr. Pimaslov, it’s good to see you again. I’d heard you’re married, so this must be Mrs. Pimaslov?” At my nod, he exchanges brief pleasantries with her before asking, “What seems to be the problem?”

I explain the situation while Dr. Petrov examines Felicity’s leg and side. He frowns slightly, prodding gently at her abdomen.

“I’d like to do an ultrasound, just to be safe,” he says. “There might be some internal bruising we can’t see.”

Felicity nods, looking nervous. I take her hand, needing to comfort her. Perhaps myself too.

Dr. Petrov brings in the ultrasound machine, applying gel to Felicity’s abdomen. The room fills with a rapid whooshing sound as he moves the wand over her skin.

His eyebrows rise. “This is unexpected.”

“What is it?” asks Felicity, her grip on my hand tightening.

Dr. Petrov turns the screen toward us. “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.”

I stare at the small blob on the screen, a strange mix of emotions surging through me. Pride, excitement, and a twinge of fear I’m not accustomed to feeling.

Felicity gasps softly. “Really? How far along?”

“Based on the size, I’d estimate about five weeks,” Dr. Petrov says. “Which means conception likely occurred…”

“On our wedding night,” I finish, remembering the passionate encounters we’d shared.

Felicity looks up at me with shock and wonder. “We’re having a baby.”

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